


Keeping Up With the Joneses

by CapnJack



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, fake family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 07:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13048914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnJack/pseuds/CapnJack
Summary: You don’t have to know the Joneses well to know they have it all. Wealth, charisma, a loving marriage and two angelic kids — not to mention all the best gadgets the twenty-first century has to offer. Or at least, that's what they'd like you to think. In reality, "the Joneses" are a team of highly skilled stealth marketers, employed to turn product placement into a lifestyle. Their first assignment sees them moving to Storybrooke, Maine - and it doesn't take long before the lines between the suburban fantasy they are meant to promote and reality begin to blur.





	Keeping Up With the Joneses

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Welcome to one of my brand new ventures. I am still working on my older projects, but I wanted to throw something new out there in this post-season six OUAT world and see what kind of response it might have. This is loosely based on the premise of the 2009 film 'The Joneses', with a few elements borrowed for my own use, but has mostly been transformed to fit our beloved CS. I have seven parts outlined, but I just wanted to see if anybody would be interested in reading the rest of it - it'll be a lot of fun, I promise!
> 
> (sidenote: I'd like to give a fair warning that this chapter includes a reference to one of the characters potentially enjoying the daddy/daughter kink, but none of the characters are actually related and all involved are above the age of consent. I just want to cover all my bases here!)
> 
> anyway, that's it from me. now - onwards with the rest of the story, and let me know what you think!

“I think we should pay them a visit.”

With a jolt, David let the curtain fall back into place — he hadn’t even realised his wife was in the room with him, let alone watching him spy on their new neighbours across the street. 

“Don’t you?” Mary Margaret continued pointedly, coming to stand beside him. 

“Sure,” he said, thinking of the large moving truck that had pulled out of the driveway just moments before, revealing one of the new Audi Cabriolets parked invitingly in front of their garage. Frankly, the new neighbours aside, he was dying to get a closer look at that car. “It’s the polite thing to do.”

If the amused look his wife was giving him was any indication, she saw right through him. He merely gave her a boyish grin and jogged upstairs to collect their son — they might as well make a good impression with the entire Nolan brood. 

Which was how the three of them found themselves on the doorstep of 710 Misthaven Drive, one of his favourite vintage bordeaux’s in hand, ringing the doorbell. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Mary Margaret nudged their son gently. 

Leo, determined to show off his reluctance at being hauled from his computer in the middle of the afternoon, huffed loudly. 

A moment later the door swung open, and they were met by a full chorus of greetings from not a single person, but what appeared to be a whole family. David had just about enough time to register two children sandwiched between two adults, all with matching ivory white smiles beaming out at them, before he realised he wasn’t the only one taken aback by the strength of the welcome and all three Nolan’s had been standing there momentarily stunned.

“Good morning!” Mary Margaret recovered first, responding just as cheerfully to their neighbours. “I’m Mary Margaret, this is my husband David and our son Leo, we live just over the road in 711 and thought we’d come and welcome you to Storybrooke our favourite way!” She glanced at David, but he merely returned her look blankly. “David, the wine.”

“Oh, of course,” he laughed, hurriedly offering it to the man. “We didn’t rehearse.” 

“Thank you,” the man said warmly, and David noted his British accent. “This is exceedingly kind of you — I’m Killian Jones.” He offered his hand to shake and gestured for the Nolan’s to come inside. 

If David had to take a stab he’d say Killian looked to be early thirties, dressed comfortably in a black-button down with the arms rolled up to the sleeves. He boasted a head of artfully dishevelled raven hair and clear blue eyes, and a handshake that while brief, was firm.

As they entered, the blonde bombshell that called herself his wife introduced herself as Emma Jones, and their two kids as Lily and Henry — Lily just coming up to her late teens and Henry looked to be little older than their own Leo. The two boys exchanged similar stares that indicated a coercion into being polite, and shook hands warmly.

“It’s a Gaja Barbaresco, vintage,” David supplied, when Killian returned his thoughtful stare to the bottle they had brought, “one of our favourites.” 

The other man nodded his approval, and brought a hand down to clap David on the back. “Sounds lovely. What say we crack it open now, hm?”

David laughed, more out of surprise than any real humour. It had only just turned two. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Killian…” Emma began to admonish, a clearly disapproving look in the curve of her brow. 

“Nonsense!” Killian brushed them all off with a grin. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” He began to lead David out through the hallway. “Tell me David, have you ever tried a Sassicaia? The ’07 is just _divine_.” 

As their voices trailed off into the other room, Emma turned back to their children.

“Henry, Lily; maybe you guys could show Leo your rooms?”

Henry briefly looked at Leo, but when the other boy shrugged he smiled. “It’s not all bad. I got the new Xbox One X last week — with the move and all I haven’t really had a chance to test it yet.”

Leo’s eyes bugged. 

“But that’s not out until next month!” 

“Dad knew a guy — c’mon, you’ll love it.” 

In a show of eagerness Mary Margaret did not expect to get out of her son today, Leo bounded up the stairs behind Henry, followed closely behind by Lily, who was polite enough to inform Mary Margaret that it had been lovely to meet her before retreating. 

“What about you?” Emma asked brightly, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Would you like a tour?”

The house was extraordinary. It hadn’t taken long for the men to migrate outside so David could examine the finish on the Cabriolet over a glass of wine, but Mary Margaret almost wished he had stayed so she could point out all the décor aspects she would love to transplant into their own home. 

The hallway by the front door opened out into a wider foyer, the large kitchen and dining room elaborately furnished through an archway on the right, with a living area towards the front with three large sofas and a television that, despite its size, managed to compliment rather than swallow the atmosphere in the room. The layout was simple enough, but it was more than that — everything _matched_. Everything was perfect. It was their first day in the house, so understandably any display of domesticity was clearly yet to show but Mary Margaret couldn’t imagine anything making a dent into the pristine nature of the home. 

When she thought of her own living area, littered with items her lovable yet untidy men usually left lying around unless prompted, she found herself more than a little envious. 

Emma, of course, was a delightful host. She fit right in with the house. Long blonde hair that curled delicately to the tip, smart jeans and a blouse and heels that Mary Margaret wouldn’t generally consider outside of a special occasion. Emma looked as comfortable as anyone; not to mention her earrings were to _die_ for. 

Once she had mentioned them, Emma had insisted on writing down the name of the jewellers and handing it to her, certain their styles would complement Mary Margaret’s face shape well. Her new neighbour only just stopped short of tugging the accessories out of her own ears and handing them over.

“So what line of work is your husband in?” she asked, wanting to quickly move along just in case Emma decided to do just that. She tucked the jewellers name into her purse and made a mental note to investigate them later. 

Emma smiled, tilting her head to one side. “Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that…” She trailed off as the men chose that moment to reappear. Mary Margaret recognised the look of boyish glee on David’s face, and privately confirmed that they had been looking at the car. “Mostly he just works on keeping me happy.”

Killian slid an easy arm around her waist, pressing a kiss into his wife’s temple. “A full-time job, I assure you.” 

“Amen to that,” David teased. At his wife’s mock-offended look, he pressed on eagerly. “You have to try a glass of this, this — what was it?”

“Sassicaia.” 

“ _Sassicaia_. Honestly, my tongue has died and gone to vino heaven.”

They spent another hour at the Joneses, enough to glean a little more information about their new neighbours; they had just moved to Maine from New York, hoping to get away from the noise and let their kids have a relaxing final few years in school. They would both be enrolling in Storybrooke High starting the following Monday, Henry as a freshman and Lily as a senior. Killian dropped only vague hints at his occupation, insisting that he worked from home and it wasn’t of much interest. Acquisition, he had described it as, and re-sale. Emma preferred to cite ‘Mom’ as her professional job title. 

Eventually they realised how much time had gotten away from them, and after wrenching Leo out of Henry’s room with considerable effort, soon bid their neighbours a fond farewell with the Joneses assuring them they would return the visit as soon as they were settled in properly. 

“What a lovely family,” Mary Margaret remarked, as the Nolan’s began the short walk back to 711 Misthaven Drive. “They’ll fit right in in Storybrooke.”

“Wait until I tell Arthur about Killian’s Cabriolet.”

Even Leo declared that Henry was the “coolest”, and begged for permission to return tomorrow and hang out with the boy some more. 

“With his Xbox, more like.” 

When Leo didn’t dispute his father’s comment, his parents exchanged amused glances over the top of his head. 

They permitted one final look at 710 before stepping back into their home, the lights beginning to switch on throughout the house and making it appear lived in. 

Mary Margaret was sure she was right. The Joneses would be at home in Storybrooke in no time. 

-/-

The door closed behind the Nolan’s with a final _click_. Killian let the silence extend for a few moments before turning back to Emma with a wide grin. 

“I think that went rather well, don’t you?”

Emma nodded slowly, taking a few thoughtful steps across the hallway. “Good, it was good. Especially if Mary Margaret organises that brunch she promised and introduces me to her friends.” After a beat, she swivelled on her heel to face him sharply. Killian had a distinctly vivid memory of waiting to receive marks at the end of a French oral exam from his high school days. “I do think you were coming on a little strong, though.” 

Killian frowned. It wasn’t _his_ idea to all open the door together like the bloody Jersey Boys.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The wine, in the middle of the day?” Emma fixed him with a pointed look. “And stay away from those vague answers about your job. _Acquisition and re-sale?_ They’ll either think we’re alcoholics, drug dealers or both.”

“Maybe I’ll tell them we’re bootleggers, that would tick all the boxes rather nicely.” 

“This isn’t a joke, Killian. We have to be perfect.”

“And we _will_ be,” he assured her, “I’m just — stretching my legs, I promise. I’ll get the hang of it all in no time.”

Besides, he hadn’t expected to be tested so soon; their first official day on the job was Monday, they had been given the weekend to settle in and get their game plan straight. Unfortunately, the executives at _SalesInc_ who planned the moving day’s itinerary hadn’t exactly accounted for the supreme friendliness of David and Mary Margaret Nolan, popping round within hours of them making it to Storybrooke. 

He’d taken an instant liking to them, frankly. And it didn’t bode well for what he was being paid to do there. 

Emma didn’t look particularly inspired by his response, but left it at that. “You better.”

For a few seconds they stood at a loss, and Killian meant to ask what the protocol was for free time spent with his fake wife, but Emma cut him off before he could. 

“If you need anything I’ll be in my study.”

In moments she had mounted their ornate staircase with little more than a glance over her shoulder back at him. 

_Ice_ , Killian thought. Beautiful, but about as forgiving as a glacier. He could only imagine how cold she might be if they actually shared the marital bed. 

Now at something of a loss, he wandered back into the kitchen where he found Lily applying some mascara at the island counter, and Henry pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

Here, at least, he might find a little normality. Prior to that morning, the longest time he had spent with either of them had been the chemistry tests Emma and Ingrid had insisted he go through. All that had derived was that he and Henry shared an enthusiasm for first-person shooters, and Lily held the same propensity for troublemaking he had in his youth. 

How the hell they had managed to find themselves involved in these surreal pseudo-lives was completely beyond him, yet here they were still the veterans, while he was new to the entire experience. 

“That stuff’ll kill you, y’know,” Killian pointed at the coffee with amusement. Henry spared him a blank look before returning to what he was doing. Determined not to be deterred, he carried on. “Fancy a game of COD before we turn in? I’ve been dying to try that Xbox myself.”

Henry shook his head, offering an apologetic smile as he picked up his mug and manoeuvred his way past Killian and out of the kitchen. “Can’t.” 

Killian watched as he pulled out his phone, tapping the screen with his free thumb as he headed towards the stairs. He turned his attention to his final hope for company. 

“Lily? How about a cold one with dear old Dad, hm?”

“I’m going out,” she informed him, but not before smirking at the title he generously bestowed upon himself. “Next time for sure,” she paused, biting her lip as she stepped up to him, “ _Daddy_.”

He found himself more relieved when she moved away; the way the endearment rolled off her tongue made him profoundly uncomfortable. Even given the situation, some things just felt a little too Freudian for his tastes. 

Of course, considering he had enrolled himself in a fake family and allowed them to haul him halfway across America for the sake of selling a few toys to suburban high society, he was sure any psychotherapist would love to get the chance to pick apart his motivation with a clinical eye.

The house was a lot larger than it had appeared when they arrived — especially now, with the charming Nolan’s gone and its residents since retreated to their own private corners. He wasted some time rinsing the glasses they had used with the Sassicaia, pausing thoughtfully over the unopened Bordeaux their neighbours had brought. He knew Emma would recommend he bin it, they had far superior quality wine provided for them in their cellar, and since they hadn’t any contracts with the vintage that he could think of there was no need to try and sell it.

Still, he found himself slipping it into one of the cupboards above the counter. The innocence and warmth of the gesture from two virtual strangers was something he wouldn’t mind preserving, even if it was only for a day or two. 

He entertained himself for a few hours by investigating the electronics setup in the sitting room — the television had to be at least 75 inches, and skimming through the product brochure informed him it had full 4k. Killian stuck on a few episodes of Black Sails, keeping one ear trained to the activity in the rest of the house. Or rather, lack thereof. 

Lily arrived home somewhere around eight, offering only a perfunctory greeting before heading upstairs. Other than not, nothing stirred.

 _This is absurd_ , he decided, but he was taking his cues entirely from the others here. They were the ones who had been doing this gig for years. He was just the latest in a long line of Mr. Joneses.

When he finally decided to carry himself to bed, he paused on the landing beside Emma’s bedroom. On arrival, she had promptly informed him she would be taking the master bedroom and the conjoining study, but Killian had the pick of the remaining guest rooms. Henry and Lily’s rooms had been predetermined, set up with all their belongings the way _SalesInc_ wanted them. Light still shone out beneath Emma’s door, but he couldn’t hear any sound from within. Perhaps she was curled up with a novel — or more likely, she was completing some late night market research. In the short time he had known her, he hadn’t known her to be anything other than dedicated to this program of theirs. 

Then again, he had no way of telling whether she just preferred to sleep with the light on. 

Killian’s room was sparse, a soft cream carpet with some generic (yet undoubtedly expensive) artwork on the walls; he’d had very little belongings of his own that he felt were worth bringing to Maine, but as he got himself ready to turn in he almost wished he had. The drawers were filled with clothes that weren’t his, the en-suite with bathing products he had never seen before that were supposed to be used for purposes he didn’t know existed.

All things considered, it was like being on a very expensive holiday. Except this was supposed to be his life now, and he hadn’t paid a dime. 

Killian treated himself to a pair of silk pyjamas with his initials stitched into the breast pocket, nearly laughing out loud at the thought of what Liam might say if he saw him now.

The only thing he removed before he slept was the wedding ring; somehow, it didn’t feel right to leave it on in private. As he sank down into the plush pillows provided, listening to the quiet hum of the house, a single thought crossed his mind more frequently than thoughts of rest. 

_What the bloody fuck had he gotten himself into?_

-/-

 _SalesInc_ was an initiative Emma had been roped into when she was just a teenager. The premise was simple; implant a perfect, nuclear family into a flourishing, wealthy community; equip them with all of the latest products across several markets, and let them convince their neighbours to follow suit. Many different manufacturers would start contracts with _SalesInc_ , for a fee, in return for their products making their way into the lives of the hundreds of different ‘Jones’ households across America — and from these epicentres out into wider communities.

The manipulation had to be subtle. This wasn’t cans of Pepsi in a summer blockbuster, it was far more complex than that. They had to live a product, _breathe_ it, be convinced of its essentiality before passing it onto others. It meant being perfect. It meant being the object of envy, admiration, even fury from the suburban paradises they moved into; by now, Emma had experienced every reaction across the spectrum. And she was _good_. Even when they hated her, her peers had mimicked her with alarming precision. She had worked her way through the corporation until she could finally call herself a success story.

And Emma had a good feeling about this assignment. 

It was the first time she had been selected as the Head of Household, and as a result had the pick of the lot — Maine was a promising, thus far uncorrupted market, and she had jumped at the chance. Not to mention she finally had the freedom to choose her own family members to complete the Jones household.

Henry had been the easiest selection. His earnest, natural charm had won him the trust of his peers in record time during his previous assignments. Still relatively new to the program, the fourteen-year-old had only started at _Sales Incorporated_ three years prior, and had been assigned to her cell for his first job. At his heart she knew he was the sweetest, most genuine kid, but he could pull out all the stops when he wanted to be persuasive. The perfect little salesman. 

Lily was a little different — Emma had never expressly worked with her, but her reputation far preceded any of her original misgivings. Lily’s performance scores tended to rock off the charts. Apparently her methods could be a little unconventional, but her confidence had an effortless quality to it that attracted girls of that age like moths to an open flame. Emma considered herself lucky, given this was the last year Lily could be considered part of the high school market in _SalesInc_. At nineteen she could still just about pass as a senior, but give it another year and they’d have to bump her to a college student. Emma had managed to snatch her up before another Head of Household realised she was being held back for another year.

The only wildcard, really, was Killian Jones. Excellent résumé, he had worked for the last four years at a second-hand car dealership, during which he had exceeded their sales projections by 180%. She’d watched the playback of his interview at least three times while she mulled over her decision — Mr. Jones was an essential role within the _SalesInc_ cells, and he’d have to help her carry the bulk of the sales. More than that, he would be her partner. She needed somebody she could trust.

Emma had almost laughed when she’d watched the playback of his interview, and he admitted that his name really was Killian Jones. His charisma was easily identifiable in the steady rapport he quickly developed with the interviewer, but it was something else that had finally made her select him. 

_“There’s no use selling a product you don’t want yourself. It’s not convincing. I’ve never finished a sale without privately hating the bastard for buying it.”_

It sounded a lot like her philosophy when she first started at _SalesInc_. 

Ingrid had warned her against taking on a rookie in her first household, but Emma had seen something in that interview, and in every time she met him in person following it. This could work. 

This _would_ work. It had to.

She took a long time choosing what to wear that morning — she liked to, on the first official day of an assignment. She liked to take her time getting used to all the items that had been put into her wardrobe, familiarising herself with each piece of clothing, every single accessory. It was the basic requirement for any sales job, to know what you were selling. Each wardrobe in the house came with a handy manifesto, filled with product details, retailers and prices, but it was a little different to judge the items herself.

Killian had fitted easily into the preparation process. As Emma descended the stairs down into the hallway, she paused to scrutinise the blown-up family portraits they had taken and placed visibly around the house. They were almost identical to the ones she had in her last assignment, some of them simply smiling and others of the four of them laughing together. Although hardly from genuine candid photos, they looked authentic. Emma nodded approvingly. So much of their job would be about convincing the residents of Storybrooke that their family wanted for nothing — and that included where their relationships with each other were concerned.

Emma found Henry and Lily already seated at the table, Henry tucking into a bowl of cereal and Lily thumbing through the new iPhone Ingrid had given her before they arrived. 

“Morning!” Henry chirped between mouthfuls. 

Lily arched an eyebrow at her approach. “You’re up late.”

“Morning,” Emma ignored the suspicious look Lily was sending her; let the girl come to her own assumptions, Emma didn’t care. They were here to work. “Any sign of Killian?”

The pair shook their head. “He probably drowned in the fifteen thousand pillows we got given,” Henry chuckled, “I didn’t think I was getting up either.” 

Emma playfully swatted him on the arm with one of the envelopes she pulled from her bag, each clearly labelled with each of their names. She mulled over pausing for Killian to appear, but then they weren’t exactly familiar with each other’s schedules yet. He may not be a morning person. 

“Alright guys, you’ve got a big day ahead — first day of your new school.” Lily made a grab for her envelope, but Emma pulled it just out of her reach with a pointed look. The teenager rolled her eyes. “I want us thinking big, alright? There are over four-thousand teenagers in this area aged between thirteen and eighteen, I want to crack this market. The average income for their parents is a _hundred thousand dollars_. These kids can afford what you’re plying them with, okay?”

Henry nodded, and Lily gave her a dazzling smile she didn’t believe for a second. 

“You’ve got to make a good impression today. It’s crucial.”

Lily’s eyes turned skyward. “We’re not new at this, Em. Save the speeches for Killian.” 

She held out her hand expectantly. After a moment, Emma sighed and dropped the envelope into her waiting palm. The other was handed to Henry, whose eyes lit up.

“Ah, presents.” 

He slipped it open, and began flipping eagerly at the hundred dollar bills waiting inside. 

“Use them wisely,” Emma chuckled, before sitting down and helping herself to a bear claw. 

The front door opened and all three turned their head towards it, staring in surprise as Killian stepped inside. Dressed in a grey t-shirt and shorts, moist around his chest and neck, it was clear he’d been out for a run. 

_A morning person then_ , Emma decided. 

Taken aback by the sudden scrutiny directed at him, Killian offered a hesitant smile to his new family. “Uh, morning. It’s lovely out.” 

“It’s lovely _in_ ,” Lily smirked, unabashedly appraising the man’s form as he stepped past them towards the fridge. Emma shot her a warning look — she’d heard rumours about the girl’s behaviour in her last cell, and she wouldn’t stand for it. Mercifully, Killian didn’t appear to have heard. He was busy filling a glass full of water by the sink.

Lily returned Emma’s stare evenly. “So what’re you up to today, _Daddy?_ ” 

He turned, first lifting his shoulders in a shrug before his eyes found Emma’s. “I guess… I’ll try and scare up a golf game?” At her approving nod, he smiled over the rim of his glass. A disarming thing, like he’d passed a test. “And you?” 

The fact that he turned his response to Emma wasn’t lost on Lily, who clicked her tongue and returned to her breakfast.

“Oh, you know. Mani-pedi, probably a facial.” Emma had never been particularly fond of needless pampering, but the salon would be the first place she should hit with the products that she’d been given to push. She needed to hook her way into this community, much like she had every other one in the past — for that she needed somewhere central, and somebody the wives of Storybrooke would trust. 

Killian seemed to realise she intended to do far more than relax, merely returning her smile tightly. “Sure.” 

She almost wanted to throw him a rope of some kind, but he’d need to stand on his own two feet if this was going to work — there was no point in trying to tackle the town together, they had crucially different markets to open up. 

He was a big boy. And she was his boss, not his friend.

Instead, she crossed over to him with his own envelope, holding it out. 

“For me? You shouldn’t have, love.” When he began flipping through its contents he let out a low whistle. 

“It’s for daily expenses.” At his answering stare, she elaborated. “Picking up a tab, lunch at the club. Transport if necessary. It’s not an unlimited supply, so be careful how quickly you blow through it.” 

The corner of Killian’s mouth curved upwards. “Do your husbands usually blow… quickly?”

Despite herself, she had to bite back a smile. Killian looked entirely too pleased by the reaction.

“I’m sure they covered that in your orientation.”

He looked ready to fire back a retort, but Emma didn’t give him the chance to as she turned her attention to ushering the kids out of the door. Lily was granted the keys to her own car with a strict warning to be responsible (she had been known to abuse such a privilege in the past), and the two teenagers spent the remaining metres to the foyer arguing about who would control the music on the way into school. 

With a final look over her shoulder, she watched Killian hold up a hand in farewell before turning back to the breakfast spread. 

She only allowed herself a few seconds to observe what it was Lily could see — the muscles taut in his arms, the broad shoulders. 

Even she had to admit; he was a lot easier on the eyes than her last husband.

-/-

For lack of anything else to do, Killian decided to do just as he’d suggested to Emma and hit the course. That, at least, was familiar. He’d been playing golf for as long as he remembered, a small hobby he and Liam had taken up at the free municipal course back in Seattle. Of course, back then he didn’t have the sleek new equipment left in his garage by _SalesInc_ , nor the personal caddie he was paying to carry them around. 

Truthfully, he may not have even bothered to hire the caddie had he not realised he didn’t have anybody to putt with. Golf was a slow-moving sport, and required at least a conversation to keep the minutes ticking by. 

Until he felt a little more comfortable, he had elected to sticking to the greens nearest the clubhouse and staying away from the larger courses. He hadn’t much cause to pick up a club in recent years, and he wanted a chance to try and claw back his old standard before he attempted to ingratiate himself with the other private members of the club. His run this morning had been promising; the day was perfect for golf, warm but with little wind. Sedate. In fact, he was enjoying it far more than he thought. 

“What do you think, Mister Smee?” Killian squinted at where the ball had landed with a critical eye. “The five iron? I don’t want to overshoot.”

“You want my recommendation?” His rather rounded, enthusiastic caddie appeared puzzled by the notion. 

“Of course,” Killian replied, adjusting the glove on his left hand, “this is my first day. Only an idiot would refuse the advice of a man on his home turf.” 

“Forgive me, Mr. Jones, I wouldn’t presume to offer _any_ advice.” 

“Ah, but the wise man always asks for it. Do feed into the delusions of my own sagacity and pass me a club, won’t you?”

Smee grinned, before turning to the bag and hesitating a moment. After again surveying the distance they wanted to travel, he reached for the seven iron instead. 

“You’ve got a good swing on you, sir. Very balanced. I think I could trust you with this.”

Well, at least he’d won over the caddie. If he wanted a shot at succeeding in this job he was going to have to work out some other way to connect with the other gents on the course.

“Jones!” 

The pair of them turned to find David Nolan climbing out of one of the course’s carts and crossing the lawn towards him. 

“I thought that was you!” 

“Morning Mr. Nolan,” Smee nodded respectfully.

David’s face broke into a wide grin. “I knew it had to be somebody new to the club; everyone knows Smee is unofficially mine between ten and two on a Monday.” 

“Ah,” Killian demurred, offering the caddie back to him with a wave, “I apologise. I humbly surrender him to your charge.”

“No,” David insisted, “Don’t be ridiculous.” He hesitated for barely more than a second, but it was a second Killian found himself attuned to — he’d always been rather good at reading people, it was what pulled him into sales in the first place. He could taste the offer radiating from his new neighbour. “We can share him, if you like,” David carried on, “I’m paired up with a couple of guys already, but there’s always room for a fourth if you’re interested.”

Killian felt immediately suspicious; he wanted to work his way into the social life of the club, but this would be _far_ too easy.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” he began, but David waved away his protests.

“Come on, Jones. You can ride with me.” 

-/-

David introduced him to Arthur Pendragon and Phillip Rose, which made it a relatively successful outing. Both were about as interesting as the insides of his own eyelids, carrying a constant stream of chatter about business performance, stock trading and their wives’ recent interest in hot yoga. Arthur, at least, had an acerbic wit about him, and David’s perfect congeniality left little room for Killian to feel left out of the conversation. In fact, they had only permitted him to leave after making him promise to play again with them on Thursday. He had readily agreed, and not before offering to bring along a few gadgets for the boys to try out. That had only increased his popularity. 

“Honey, I’m home,” Killian called as he crossed the threshold. It was past five by the time he’d managed to get away from the club, and knew the kids would probably be in their rooms. He didn’t receive any sort of response, but in actuality that was something of a comfort — normal teenagers were usually indifferent to their parents, weren’t they?

He mounted the stairs, pausing outside Emma’s door when he realised it was left ajar. After announcing himself and knocking, he gently pushed it open. 

“Hey,” he could hear Emma’s greeting echoing from inside, although the room was empty; likely in her en-suite. “How did it go today?”

“Pretty well I think.” The door to the bathroom was open just a crack, and Killian realised with a start that the angling of the interior mirror actually permitted him a peek inside. Emma was in a bathrobe, her blonde waves tied back into a ponytail as she propped one foot on the edge of the bath. The act of rubbing some sort of moisturiser into her calves gave him an unimpeded view of her shapely legs, the hem of the bathrobe falling just so to hide anything past her upper thigh. He hummed appreciatively. “Very, very well.”

Emma did not appear to have noticed his interest. “Did you make any friends?”

“I did indeed,” he mused, before deciding that spying (even on his supposed-wife), was bad form, and backed away from the door. A good thing too, as Emma was soon tugging it open from the other side. 

She wasn’t smiling, but he thought he could detect some trace of satisfaction in the curve of her mouth; he had the distinct impression she knew exactly what he had been doing. Killian found himself reliving their earlier conversation when he had received his allowance — she hadn’t recoiled from the innuendo as he had thought she might. It appeared she might well be a little less frosty than he had originally given her credit. The revelation, he decided, was something well worth investigating. There was nothing in his contract that suggested he had to spend the entire assignment celibate — and Emma, well. Emma was a beautiful woman, there were no doubts about that.

“And you got their contact information?” she asked. 

Killian stepped a little closer, leaning casually on the wall beside the doorway. He was prepared to explore Emma’s playful side for as long as she would let him. “I don’t go anywhere without my, ah, address book.”

To his surprise, she almost seemed to respond to his shift in tone, as her response practically came as a purr. 

“Is that right?”

“Aye, that’s right.”

“Great.” Her lovely features broke out into a saccharine sweet smile as she began to step back from the doorway, and Killian realised the moment it became obvious she had just been baiting him. “Your dinner’s in the fridge.”

The door to her bathroom swung shut in his face.

 _Minx_.

-/-

They continued peaceably for two weeks as the Joneses settled into Storybrooke, with daily routines beginning to form naturally. Killian learnt later that Emma had befriended one of the stylists at the Three Bears Day Spa, Ruby Lucas, and through her and Mary Margaret’s effusive efforts had been introduced to several other socialites in Storybrooke, including Philip and Arthur’s wives, Aurora and Guinevere. Through the club, Killian had started a weekly game with David, Arthur and Phillip, but had also played a round or two with Greg Hades, the owner of a particularly luxurious yacht down in the harbour that he scarcely stopped mentioning, and Sean Herman, the father of one of Lily’s classmates, Alexandra.

Lily and Henry were doing well at school — they took every opportunity to bring their new friends back to 710 Misthaven Drive, and Killian had taken to observing their technique when he could. Despite their youth, he felt nothing but admiration for the subtlety with which they could slowly convince one of their peers of the value of a gadget that, three minutes earlier, they hadn’t even known existed. Killian only hoped he could be just as effective in his shifting of the sports gear at the club. So far, he felt he had experienced some success, and Arthur had often vocalised his envy for Killian’s club set — until he went out and bought almost an exact replica for himself. Emma had rewarded him with an almost warm smile for that particular victory. 

It was as perfect as he had imagined it would be. He had access to all the latest toys he could think of, given an entire wardrobe full of expensive shirts and Italian shoes he delighted in throwing on even for days he knew he would spent lounging around the house. Within the community Killian Jones was quickly becoming somebody whose society was sought out, for his wit and good humour, not least for the envious remarks about his beautiful wife and angelically behaved children. He had the perfect family, affluence, and all the happiness money could buy. 

Killian much preferred _this_ man, this fairytale, to the beaten, tired and grief-stricken used-car salesman he had been a year ago.

It was only one particular evening, exactly two weeks into the assignment, that he was forced to remember just how unreal it all was.

He had been dreaming about Emma. The blonde siren occupied his thoughts much of the time, mostly because, other than when they were in public, she insisted on remaining complete strangers. To his utter shame, she did occasionally intrude upon his dozing moments in stimulating instances that would leave him unable to look her in the eye the following morning, the back of his neck burning when he remembered just which images his subconscious mind had conjured up about his new boss.

Tonight was no different. He became aware of an arm sliding around his waist, the trail of Emma’s fingertips sliding up his abdomen and ghosting over his hip, while she tucked one of her legs between his, her thigh brushing dangerously close to his crotch. He wanted to turn around, to take her in his arms, but found himself unable to move. Instead, Emma pressed in closer behind him. Her chest was bare, her nipples pert and ready and sliding deliciously against the skin of his back as she let her chin come to rest on his shoulder. 

He shivered, her hot breath near his ear making him tremble, and he once again tried to turn to no avail; he was paralysed, left only to enjoy her ministrations. 

Emma nibbled gently on his ear and he barely suppressed a whimper. 

“You like that?” she purred. “Yeah, I bet you like that.”

Then, with a yelp that startled him into wakefulness, she was gone. 

“ _Fuck_ , ow — _Emma!_ ”

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Bleary eyed but with his heart thudding from the rude awakening, Killian groggily lunged for his bedside lamp. His bedroom flooded with light, just in time to see the real Emma, clad only in a shift reach down to his floor and pick up a discarded piece of clothing, flinging it at the other occupant of the room — 

Lily, currently naked from the waist up. 

Killian turned the other way so fast his neck cracked. 

“ _Jesus_ Emma, I think you tore out some of my hair!”

“Shut the hell up, put your clothes on.” As Lily hurriedly stuffed herself into one of Killian’s sweaters, Emma began ushering her out the door just as the motor function in Killian’s jaw finally began to work again. 

“What the — what’s going on?”

Emma held up a warning finger back at him, unrestrained fury in her glare. “I’ll get to you in a minute.”

“Whoa — nothing happened!” 

Although it had become quite clear what _had_ happened, and Killian wasn’t about to let anybody get the wrong end of the stick where this was concerned. _Christ_. He jumped to his feet and followed the two women out into the corridor, where Lily had taken a defensive stance in front of her bedroom door. Emma was the picture of white-hot indignation.

“I thought you told them this wasn’t going to happen again!” she barked. 

_Again?_

“What, are you jealous?”

“Are you _shitting_ me?”

Finally shaking off the remaining dregs of sleep and feeling distinctly bemused (and more than a little violated), Killian felt it was his place to intervene. 

“Now just — _hold on one bloody minute_.” 

Both parties turned to him impatiently at the outburst, but when his gaze slid between his fake wife and the nineteen-year-old he found whatever righteous indignation he had been harbouring fizzle out under their furious glares and the sheer absurdity of the situation. Killian was dimly aware of Henry’s door opening as they returned to their argument.

“If you’re not gonna do him,” Lily declared, “why can’t I?”

“Do you want me to call Ingrid? Do you _want_ me to get Central Sales involved in this bullshit? Don’t think I don’t know you ruined your last cell with your — your —”

“Depravity?” Henry offered, rather unhelpfully. 

Emma shot him a warning look. “Stay out of this, Henry.”

He let out a long-suffering sigh, his hazel eyes rolling across to Lily. “You couldn’t at least pretend to be normal?”

“Fuck you,” Lily snapped.

“Jeez, temper.”

“Back to bed. _Both_ of you.” Emma’s tone left little room for argument, although Lily looked like she was readying herself up for a retort. “Go to your rooms or I swear to God I'll fire you both right here.” 

That was enough for Henry, who slipped back through his doorway. Lily instead first lifted her chin defiantly and locked eyes with Killian, who had been hovering warily near his own door. Worried for a moment that she would try and engage with him before he really had a full grasp of what was going on, instead she merely bid him goodnight and pointedly ignored Emma before heading into her room. The door slammed closed behind her. 

Emma rubbed a hand over her tired eyes. “Shit.”

Killian wasn’t sure if the dismissal to his room versus being fired ultimatum applied to him, but he felt he was at least owed some answers, so he lingered. 

It didn’t take long for Emma to round on him.

“Why did you let her into your room?”

“I was sleeping,” he replied indignantly, “I’d have locked my door if I realised my _fake daughter_ was going to sneak in and try and seduce me. Unfortunately, nobody warned me her tastes veered more toward the Freudian field day, did they?”

The pointed remark landed, and Emma winced. “She —” Emma broke off, fists clenching at her sides as her eyes rolled skyward. “She has a problem.”

“Well, thank you for the heads up.”

“Don’t be an ass about this, Killian.”

He had a few more choice words for her being pissed at _him_ , but let them lie. Everyone was a little too tightly strung to start flinging around more insults. 

After a moment Emma seemed to have clawed back her sense of equilibrium. “Well we aren’t solving anything tonight,” she began assertively, “so we’ll discuss it in the morning.”

The decision made, she walked straight past him and headed back to her bedroom. 

“You know, love,” Killian called after her, “this really _wasn’t_ covered in my orientation.”

If she smiled, she hid it as she pushed open the door, leaving him alone in the corridor.

Fake family, sell products, live the dream. It had all seemed so simple on paper. 

_Well, shit_.


End file.
